


On The Kings Throne

by arafinwean



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Dirty Talk, Finarfin Is Pretty, Jealousy, M/M, Misuse of The Royal We, PWP, Power Kink, Throne Sex, Why Don't We Have More Throne Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 22:00:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13304178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arafinwean/pseuds/arafinwean
Summary: Fëanor doesn't like it when Finarfin flirts with others.He intends to make sure Finarfin knows who he belongs too.





	On The Kings Throne

They shouldn’t be doing this, Arafinwë knew, they shouldn’t be here in the throne room, Fëanáro shouldn’t be lounging on their father’s throne like he’s already king.   
  
But Fëanáro had been troubled of late, had been irritable and brash and when he saw Arafinwë shamelessly flirt with one of the Teleri that had come to Tirion, Arafinwë had thought that Fëanáro would have gone after the man Arafinwë had been flirting with, with how intense Fëanáro’s gaze had been on the two of them.   
  
But no, instead Fëanáro had come after him, had come storming into Arafinwë’s rooms just as he was about to get ready for bed and dragged him to the throne room where Fëanáro had pressed a hard, selfish kiss against his golden brother’s mouth.   
  
_ Mine,  _ the kiss seemed to say, and Arafinwë saw no point in arguing that claim.   
  
When they parted, Arafinwë let out a breathless laugh.   
  
“Is that why you brought him here brother?” he asked, amusement dancing in his heterochromatic eyes, “So that I may pledge myself to you as I had done before?”   
  
“You are mine,” Fëanáro said, neither denying or verifying the claim, but trailing his fingers in firm strokes across Arafinwë’s jawline, “I see no reason why you should look to another for what you already have.”   
  
“And what do I have, brother?” Arafinwë murmured, letting Fëanáro lead him toward the throne. For a moment, Fëanáro gazed at him so sharply Arafinwë thought he overstepped before Fëanáro let loose a throaty chuckle.   
  
“You know what you have, brother dearest,” Fëanáro said, his voice dark and commanding as he sat on their father’s throne, legs spread so Arafinwë could see how hard he was.   
  
Arafinwë let loose a laugh, ignoring how his own length had hardened at the sight of Fëanáro on the throne he would one day claim. Arafinwë stood atop the steps that led to the seat Fëanáro was on and knelt before his half-brother.   
  
Fëanáro’s gaze sharpened, but he said nothing.   
  
“My king,” Arafinwë said, taking one of Fëanáro‘s hand and kissing the house ring that sat there, “My lover,” he added at Fëanáro‘s hand came to cup his cheek, “Mine.”   
  
Fëanáro made a noise at Arafinwë’s final claim, it was almost as though he was proud of his brother for making such a bold statement. Heavy silver eyes watched as Arafinwë took Fëanáro’s thumb in his mouth and sucked once before letting go.   
  
Arafinwë looked up at him through golden lashes and Fëanáro swore he would damn his brother for his next words.   
  
“What would you have me do, my king?” Arafinwë purred, letting Fëanáro guide him so they were face to face, “Would you prefer me on my knees? My lips around your cock while you use me for your pleasure? Or would you rather thrust into me, making me writhe and moan on your lap?”   
  
“Quiet,” Fëanáro commanded, voice steady despite the hardness Arafinwë could feel against his thigh, “Kiss us,” Fëanáro said.   
  
Arafinwë shivered but obeyed.   
  
The kiss was languid, Fëanáro easily claiming the mouth he knew so well but never giving Arafinwë the passion he craved. Arafinwë moaned into the kiss, longer fingers coming up to tangle themselves in Fëanáro’s hair and tilting his elder brothers head back so Arafinwë had better access to Fëanáro’s mouth.   
  
Fëanáro laughed at Arafinwë’s attempting at control before thrusting up and grinding their lengths together. The low, drawn-out moan that Arafinwë gave him was music to his ears.   
  
Fëanáro broke their kiss to gaze at Arafinwë’s flushed face, his golden brother had his eyes closed as he chased his pleasure, grinding himself down against Fëanáro’s cock. For a moment Fëanáro wished he was a painter so he could capture the image of Arafinwë in the throes of pleasure in a more permanent way.   
  
Instead, he made grabbed Arafinwë’s hips, stopping the movement and smirked when Arafinwë’s eyes snapped open to glare at him. Kiss-swollen lips turned down in a frown.   
  
“Fëanáro,” Arafinwë hissed, a warning, but Fëanáro merely smiled.   
  
“Ride us,” he said, and Arafinwë’s eyes darkened.   
  


* * *

  
Fëanáro watched as Arafinwë thrust back into the fingers stretching him. His gold hair, hair that Fëanáro had in a locket around his neck, fell into Arafinwë’s face as Arafinwë’s mouth opened in a silent scream as he fingered himself.   
  
“Enough,” Fëanáro said and Arafinwë let out a moan of protest but stopped anyway, his eyes fluttering open to gaze at Fëanáro‘s cock with unconcealed lust.   
  
When Arafinwë lowered himself on Fëanáro’s cock, felt the slick slide and drag of it in him, he made a sound between a gasp and a moan while Fëanáro laughed, breathless, in his ear.   
  
“Do you like that, brother?” Fëanáro asked as they started moving, each thrust making Arafinwë gasp a little louder, “Do you like my cock so much you have no qualms letting me fuck you where anyone could watch?” At this, Fëanáro gave a particularly hard thrust and Arafinwë let out a moan that wouldn’t be out of place in a pleasure house, “Would you like it if I invited your Teleri friends to watch you? To see how you pleasure yourself?”   
  
“Fëanáro,” Arafinwë pleaded, breathless and burning with want, “please-”   
  
Fëanáro laughed, breathless and cruel and slowed his pace. Arafinwë whined, low and filthy and desperate.    
  
“Would you like it if we shared you?” Fëanáro asked, voice harsh, “If we let others fucked you where they would?”   
  
Arafinwë tried to speak, tried to protest as Fëanáro thrust violent in him.   
  
“No,” he managed at last, “No.”   
  
“Who do you belong too?”   
  
“I’m yours,” Arafinwë said, “Always yours.”   
  
Fëanáro made a noise of approval and laid a gentle kiss to Arafinwë’s neck as he thrust up one final time.   
  
The noise Arafinwë made as he came was beautiful and Fëanáro followed not long after.


End file.
